22. Lucas
Chapter twenty-two
Lucas
A rriving at practice early, I’m met with the sound of skates scraping the ice. Who would be here before practice? No one on the team comes to mind, except maybe Ryder King.
Spotting the filled locker cubby, my eyes widen seeing that the culprit is Blaine Mitchell. I frantically put my gear on and lace my skates, eager to spy on him before hitting the ice myself.
Blaine bolts through the cone drills set up, executing his stick handling with precision I haven’t seen him have before. Racing toward the net, he winds up, taking a slapshot that goes wide and hits the post. Quickly recovering, Blaine gains control of the puck.
Clapping, I startle Blaine, causing him to lose his balance. “Don’t fall on your ass after that snappy rebound,” I call to him.
Regaining his balance, Blaine skates over to the bench where I’ve been watching.
“Didn’t know you were watching me,” he mutters, scratching the back of his neck.
“What are you doing here?” I fold my arms.
“Same thing you are, I guess.” Blaine shrugs. “Getting in extra practice.
Chuckling, I inform him I usually come an hour early to practice a few times a week.
“I’ll let you have the ice then,” Blaine quietly says.
My brows furrow. “Don’t be ridiculous, dude.” I pat him on the shoulder reassuringly. “Let’s go. I’ll play D. ”
Truthfully, my defense game is not nearly as strong as my offense. I’m much better at scoring goals than protecting the net. But I don’t mind helping Blaine out.
“You sure?” Blaine asks, still speaking softly.
“Yeah,” I respond firmly. “Just let me warm up a little bit.
Blaine follows me into some skating drills, keeping up as much as he can but always a hair behind me. Weaving in and out of the already set up cones, my heart and mind find peace as I glide on the ice.
“Alright, you shoot against me,” I instruct Blaine, take a stance near the net.
Blaine’s eyes bulge out of his eyes but his lips stay sealed.
“C’mon,” I chirp. “Show me something.”
He knits his brows before skating to the other end of the ice. My eyes watch his shoulders rise and fall taking in a long grounding breath.
Blaine moves swiftly towards me, but once he’s close to the center line, my instincts kick in and I’m ready to attack. He has to know I won’t take it easy on him.
As his eyes scan me, he continues to maintain steady control of the puck. Within a blink of an eye, Blaine tries to rush into the attack zone but my stick immediately secures the puck, not allowing him a chance to get close enough to shoot.
“Again,” I order Blaine, passing the puck down to the other side of the rink for him to retrieve.
Without complaint, he listens and tries again. This time, I give up a little space, letting him near enough to shoot, but I block the shot.
Without saying a word, I send the puck down the ice again. Letting out a small sigh, Blaine obliges and scurries to the puck. Letting him in shooting range again, I intercept the puck on his shot again.
A loud tormented groan comes from Blaine. His eyes narrow and fix on me in frustration.
“Want me to shoot on you?” I suggest.
“C’mon, Luc,” Blaine complains. “You’re a two-way player. I can’t beat you on defense or offense. ”
With an awkward chuckle, I mutter thanks . I don’t take compliments well from my team, especially when it's about how I can play offense and defense equally well. I can slam down a block, but I anticipate defensemen’s moves, rather than make them.
“Alright fine, practice getting rebounds then?” I ask, trying to think of something to work with him on where he won’t feel intimidated.
Blaine’s always been a great player and he’s improved his game a lot since last season, but since we haven’t gotten along in the past I want to show him that it’s over.
He nods in agreement, moving to grab a cone to set in the middle of the goal for me to shoot against.
Blaine snags rebound after rebound perfectly, even tipping a few into the net with a swift wrist shot, despite the cone taking up space.
Sounds of our teammates fill the arena as practice gets close to starting.
“Good stuff.” I hold out my hand to Blaine for a slap handshake. “Keep pushing.”
"Still can’t beat you,” Blaine mutters under his breath.
“You’ve put in a lot of hard work, it’s obvious,” I assure him. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’ve never practiced with just me before.”
Blaine’s eyes meet mine, his tone serious. “Surprised you let me.”
At that comment, a laugh escapes me. “Yeah well, you’re less of a pain in my ass nowadays, Mitch.”
Blaine’s nervousness reminds me of myself the first time I was on the ice alone with Nick Bellinger. I was so intimidated by Nick I thought I’d fall straight on my ass. My game was sloppy but he never judged me. He saw potential in me.
Despite how much I couldn’t tolerate him last year, I see so much potential in Blaine. Maybe I can be an impactful mentor for Blaine beyond being his captain and teammate, just like Nick was for me.
Once practice starts, my eyes dart every direction, watching the team practice and fucking flowing with happiness. We just kicked off our full practice schedule and the Wyverns might be in the best shape we’ve been in in years, and we made it to the semifinals last year.
Ryder King is always in the right place at the right time—great off-puck instincts. His “Nothing can stop us” attitude has already uplifted every single player, making them work harder and play better.
When Ryder and Blaine are on the ice together, they are a force to be reckoned with. Like gears in a machine, they move in perfect harmony, anticipating each other's moves almost flawlessly.
For the first time this season, my heart aches a little, wishing Liam and Conner were both back on the Wyverns instead of graduating last year. My mind dreams up a place where the five of us are on the ice. We’d be unstoppable.
I’m not the only one on the team that notices the on-ice connection or how much effort Blaine has put into his game.
“You think people will vote for Mitch to be an alternate captain with the way he’s playing,” I overhear someone ask.
“Fuck yeah,” Silas responds enthusiastically. “Bro is fucking fire.”
A few of the team nod. I might provide my thoughts to the coaching staff who have the final say, but team voting always is taken into consideration. Seems like Blaine Mitchell shed his old gear and left his old ways in the past.
Tyler lets out a huff of frustration, eyes narrowing as he watches Blaine on the ice. His disdain for Blaine is obvious, but if it starts to impact the team, he’s going to replace Blaine as the thorn in my ass.
Coach blows his whistle, signaling for the guys to bring it in.
“Eight a.m. sharp tomorrow in the workout room,” Coach commands. “Don’t be late.”
He turns to me, glancing at me and then back at the team with raised brows, urging me to chime in.
“You heard the man, don’t be late,” I back up Coach. “We don’t want any extra suicides.”
“Before you leave the locker room today, submit two or three players as alternate captains.” Trilled murmurs and excited whispers go around the rink. “Don’t fucking forget. And make sure you can read your handwriting,” I order.
“Can we just write their number?”
“Silas, if you can’t write clear enough for someone to read your damn handwriting, then, sure, write the jersey number.” I pinch the bridge of my noise and let out a sigh. “As long as it’s easy to tell who it is—that’s what matters.
The murmurs around the bench grow louder.
“When will they be announced?”
“Next week,” I clarify, my voice echoing authoritatively above the loud mutters of anticipation. “Make sure you all do it before you leave. The box is right next to the door.”
Signaling for everyone to head to the locker room, the noise grows louder. For being a group of men, they sure like to gossip.
“And Harlan,” I shout. “Don’t fucking fold your paper thirty times like a nitwit. Just fold it in half.”
Harlan chuckles, muttering, “Hope you make the right decisions on your alternates, Captain.” He salutes me and heads into the locker room.
No fucking pressure.